


Heat

by etonnant67



Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:49:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6055561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etonnant67/pseuds/etonnant67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the hottest day of the year</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Moving some stuff over from earlier accounts. I wrote this so so so so so long ago. My first eunhae (does anyone even still READ eunhae????) fic and my first smutty fic. Comment if you feel so inclined.

It was hot.  
  
Hotter than it ever had been, more than just the temperature and more than just the feeling but in every sense of the word. It was sweltering, stifling, suffocating. Curling heat- wrapping around your body, surrounding you, pulling you in, dragging you under. Holding you- tight in a locked embrace,  making you want to fight your way out, sucking the energy from you. The heat held you captive. The heat left you defenseless. It left you vulnerable. Open.  
  
I stood on my porch that evening in July sweating with my back against the faded wooden siding. I watched the world come to a standstill; the trees immobile, the cicadas silent, none of the late afternoon laughter of children playing in the street-- just the wail of a whippoorwill, the shimmer of heat waves rising from the cracked street, and the sinking of the red quivering sun.  
  
I was waiting again-- he always kept me waiting. Just as the sun set every night, I stood every night; waiting, watching for him to come up from the dense woods. All this constant waiting had made me eerily patient--I could stay posted in the same spot for hours, staring straight ahead until the sky tinged pink and the sun came back again, rising in the sky.  He didn’t always come--only when the moon was high enough. Or when the wind blew strong enough. Or when the grass stood still enough. You could never truly predict when. I think he wanted it to be like that.  
  
But tonight he did come. The trees stood still like silent sentinels watching over the deserted road and the moon had risen, swollen and orange in the black sky. He seemed to rise with it, coming up from the hot earth. He glowed; brighter than the dusky moon, more than the few fireflies that flickered along the dark road. There was something, some sort of light emanating from his pale skin. In the way that he walked, in the way that he swept his blond hair away from his sweat dampened face, in the way that his t-shirt clung to his shoulders--everything about him gave off this light.  
  
I stepped away from the wall, wiping the sweat off my upper lip and running my hand through my wavy brown hair. He climbed up the porch steps, each step giving out a soft creak as he ascended. He stopped at the very top, his silhouette framed by the moon’s orange light. I didn’t dare move forward, so we stood like that- eyes connected, staring intently at one another as the night moved on.  
  
His eyes were intense, swirls of black mixing with touches of soft brown. It seemed like he was looking inside of me, straight into my heart--between where my demons lurked and my uncertainties lay--to that spot where he had danced his way in.  
  
I felt my face grow hot under his gaze and I ducked my head, instead looking at our feet, mine encased in canvas sneakers, his bare to the world.  
  
I felt him move forward and I looked up, just in time to see him put his arms around me. Despite the heat, I leaned into his warm touch, letting his heat mix with mine.  
  
I felt his soft breath on my ear and he whispered,voice full of laughter, “Well aren’t you gonna let me in?”  
  
I closed my eyes for a moment, then stepped out of his embrace. I played with my hair again then took him by the hand. I opened the squeaky screen door and led him into my house.  
  
We walked silently down the dark hallway to my bedroom. I pulled him inside and shut the door behind us. It was even darker in my room, the windows were shut and the curtains drawn against any light. And it was stifling. Hotter than the afternoon had been and warmer than the night; the suffocating heat had taken up residence here.  
  
He walked over to my unmade bed and lay on his back, his t-shirt riding up his torso to unveil inches of pale skin. That stripe of toned stomach, caught between his jean shorts and top teased me and I found myself walking over to where he was and lying down next to him. He grinned at me, then returned his gaze to the ceiling. We lay there in silence, shoulders barely touching, the heat of the room dampening our skin and the sound of our breathing--mine raspy, his soft--filling the room. And I could feel it--that other heat, building in the space between our bodies, wet and heady, ripe with electricity like a coming storm. I felt it--in my marrow, in my hairs, and in that same spot in my heart where he was always dancing.  
  
I shifted slightly, turning to my side and he shifted too, turning towards me. He stared at me with the same intensity as before, but this time I didn’t look away. I stared back, trying to see into his  soul in the same way that he could see into mine. Trying to see more of him and to figure out if he felt this heat too.  
  
He leaned towards me and I breathed in, inhaling that misty, late night scent that always seemed to surround him. He smelled of summer; midnights in July, the breeze in the oak trees, spiderwebs dusted with dew. He smelled like thunder, like lightning, like emotions, like feather touches in the dark.  
  
He smelled like home.  
  
He reached over and lightly skimmed his hand over my face.  
  
“What are you thinking about?” he whispered. I could barely make out his face but I could tell that he was smiling that gummy smile of his, that one that he always wore when he was trying to unravel me, see deeper inside of me.  
  
He didn’t need to try though. For him, I was transparent.  
  
“Nothing,” I murmured back. But for me, nothing meant everything and anything. Nothing meant today and tomorrow; yesterday, the next decade and and eternity. I took his hand from my cheek and held it up to my face. Traced the lines of his palm with my eyes and brought it up to my lips. He had beautiful hands, strong hands that could cup moonlight and carve stars out of stone.  
  
I looked back up and met his eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness.  
  
Softly, gently, he moved towards me. His face came into focus as it hovered in front of mine, then light like a moth’s touch, he kissed me, placing his lips gently on my own. He drew away quickly, but I reached for him and kissed him back; sounder, softer.  
  
It always was like this, starting sweet and slow, each night a new exploration, as if we had never touched before. We were like dragonflies, barely skimming the surface of the pond, too scared to touch but infinitely curious.  
  
Our lips stayed together this time, longer, then drew apart, lightly, only to touch again. And again. And again. That heat turned into fire and threatened to consume us, drawing us closer together.  
  
And he felt it too. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer, until there was no space between us, my body flush against his. He was hot, so hot, and I could feel myself burning. I wanted to be burned. I wanted him to be seared into my skin, I wanted him to always be a red reminder of what I flirted with, what I waited for and I what I would always want. I wanted a jarring pain, I wanted others to know that I was his.  
  
And part of me wanted us to burn until we became inseparable. Until we became nothing but ash and bones--our two bodies mingling as one.  
  
The fire between us grew, warming our bodies and working its way into my nervous system. I reached up to tangle my fingers in his too long hair and for a moment he pressed himself hard against me. The electricity surged and with a gasp he arched away, bending backwards until, again there was this space between us, this time crackling with energy.  
  
I breathed in, swallowing the thick air, trying to get life into my lungs. I could feel myself quivering slightly, my skin vibrating with the touch of his body on my own. I glanced at him, seeing him run his hands through his thick hair and touch his fingertips to his lips.  
  
Then he said it, gentle as rain, quiet as night.  
  
“I want you.”  
  
And the fire in us blazed, hands touching, fingers colliding, bodies moving. In unison.  
  
I felt him in ways that I had never felt before, I felt him with an ardor that I had never imagined, boiling up from inside of me, consuming my being.  
  
I ran my fingertips over his torso, feeling his skin underneath me. He was soft, soft like moss in the forest that he always came from and he arched again but this time not from me but into me.  
And I held him there. Wanting him to consume me, wanting to engulf him. I wanted us to melt, fuse, become one.  
  
Those beautiful hands of his began to wander- up, down, across, weaving in and out of places both forgotten and forbidden.  
  
Torrid. That was the only word that came to mind as he reached under my shirt and pulled it over my head. I gasped as the hot air curled around my bare torso, then was replaced with his scorching hands, tracing paths and connecting roads, drawing maps on my body.  
  
Time slowed for a moment. I watched as he shed his own shirt and slithered out of his shorts, leaving himself bare to the darkness. And yet, still he glimmered, lighting up the small room.  
  
I reached to remove the last of my own clothing and so that I could attempt to be as free as he was. And yet, still I burned. Everything burned. My fingertips stung and I could feel the this fever growing deep inside me, consuming my soul.  
  
And he knew it. He pressed himself against me again and then pressed his touch inside me. He worked down, feeling between the valleys he had just discovered and burrowing, trying to find a source of life.  
  
And waves rolled in me. And lightning flashed between us, a storm brewing between our bodies.  
  
He kept at it- feeling, touching, going deeper than I thought possible.  
  
And the storm intensified, thunder coming from my mouth, humidity growing between our skin.  
  
My hands grappling for purchase, his beautiful hands staying at a steady pace.  
  
Until, it rained. Hot drops pouring from within me, the smell of night and passion filling the room.  
  
I drew away from him then, breathing the heavy heat, trying to find words or actions that could express anything and say nothing.  
  
He lay there, on his side, as beautiful as the rain he had made, still radiating, that same smile on his face. We were both wet- wet from our sweat, wet from our rain. A single drop coursed along his body.  
My eyes followed the droplet on its path. He was so breathtakingly beautiful and so different from myself.  
  
Our bodies curved the same; peaked and plateaued in the same places, they flowed the same; young and inexperienced.  
But where mine was gawky, his was strong;  where mine was protruding, his was smooth.  
  
He was a river to my stream, a pond to my pool.  
  
An oasis to my desert.  
  
He took my hand and gripped it in his damp one. He laced his long fingers with my crooked ones and we captured wet heat between our palms.  
  
He pulled me closer to him and whispered one word in my ear, so softly that I nearly missed it.  
  
_love._  
  
And so we burned.


End file.
